


Scale

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Sexual Inexperience, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Deacon watched Virgil’s hands, awestruck, admiring the care with which he handled his samples. His hands were surgeon-steady, deft and dexterous despite their massive size. It was enough to give a man ideas." Originally posted <a href="http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=18562759#t18562759">here</a> on the Fallout Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scale

It was a simple assignment: track down a former Institute scientist, convert him to the cause, and gather as much intel as possible. It took Deacon three weeks to trace the rumors to a remote cave in the heart of the Glowing Sea. It seemed an odd location for a safe house, but Deacon hadn’t thought much of it. You had to be nuts to work for the Institute and even crazier to defect; of _course_ the guy had relocated to an irradiated fucking hellscape. Deacon had been expecting an old man with hair growing out of his ears, babbling about reptilians and pissing in jars. Simple.

Turned out that the scientist had injected himself with the Forced Evolutionary Virus at some point between “fleeing for his life” and “going to ground in a cave in the middle of nowhere.” Deacon learned this the hard way: he entered the cave, bypassed its defenses, turned a corner, and walked directly into a wall of solid muscle. Der mentsh trakht, Got lakht.

Brian Virgil was still sane, despite having spent six years alone in a cave, mutating. Virgil had been as surprised to see Deacon as Deacon had been to see him, but they got along quite well, once they had recovered from their mutual shock. Virgil was an affable guy, clearly intelligent, slightly neurotic. He was developing a cure for FEV, and he kept his shabby laboratory surprisingly clean. Deacon didn’t know whether his tidiness was a character quirk or a byproduct of his years with the Institute, but he appreciated the contrast of the orderly lab with the dingy cave and the desolation of the Glowing Sea. It was delightfully incongruous, like a karaoke bar in purgatory.

Virgil was equally delightful. Deacon followed him around the lab, lobbing questions at his back, and Virgil answered each to the best of his ability. He spoke thoughtfully about the Institute and its personnel and its layout and defenses while he prepared cell cultures, the pipettes comically small in his huge hands. He worked methodically, distributing viral samples into prepared petri dishes with practiced ease. Deacon watched Virgil’s hands, awestruck, admiring the care with which he handled his samples. His hands were surgeon-steady, deft and dexterous despite their massive size.

It was enough to give a man ideas.

Deacon retreated to Virgil’s bed (there was nowhere else to sit) and tried to think pure thoughts. Ignorant of Deacon’s dirty mind, Virgil continued to work, moving the prepared agar plates into a makeshift incubator that had been Frankensteined together from a Nuka-Cola fridge and an electric oven. Satisfied, he recorded the date and time in a wide-rule notebook, pencil scratching against the paper.

Deacon watched for a few moments longer. Without thinking, he opened his mouth and said “Hey Virgil. You’re a man of science. Tell me: how does a supermutant fist fit inside a human rectum? Has it ever been attempted?”

Virgil spluttered, pencil snapping in his ham-sized hand. “What?”

“Askin’ for a friend,” Deacon said. “Is that even possible? Just how much can you stretch your asshole before you get hit with rectal prolapse?”

“Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “That would depend on the individuals involved. The human body,” he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his massive throat, “is durable and highly elastic, but there’s ah, a fundamental question of--of _scale_.”

Deacon nodded. “I can see you’ve put some thought into the matter.”

“I’ve done no such thing!” Virgil protested. His veneer of scientific detachment peeled like old wallpaper, leaving him flushed and stammering. He blushed brown, muddy splotches appearing high on his green cheeks. “It hadn’t even occurred to me until _you_ put the idea in my head.”

“But you’re thinking about it now,” Deacon said, waggling his eyebrows. “I can tell, you’re thinking about it now.”

“What are you _saying_?”

“I’m saying I’m bored and curious and watching you work is giving me ideas,” said Deacon. He sat up and leaned forward, his glasses sliding down his nose. “It’s your hands, V. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’ve never--I mean--” Virgil pressed his lips together, too flustered to continue. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and began again, his hands hanging limp at his sides, like he’d forgotten how to gesture with them. “Even in the Institute, I was never with another man. I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” Deacon said, wetting his lips. “I mean, you already know what feels good, right? You just have to touch him like you’d touch yourself.”

“I’ve never put anything inside myself,” Virgil said. His forehead gleamed with sweat, his small eyes darted around the room while he fiddled with the mug of pens on his desk. “I don’t know how that could feel good for anyone.”

Deacon laughed. “That’s even easier. Go slow, use lots of lube, listen to the other person.” He patted the mattress next to him, an open invitation. “Just come here. I want to touch you.”

Virgil crossed the room like a convict crossing a prison yard. The front of his too-small polyester trousers bulged, the cheap fabric straining to contain his arousal. He was at least ten inches long, as thick around as Deacon’s wrist. He loomed over Deacon, huge and solid and _warm_ , his body heat plain even a hand’s breadth between them.

“You’re so small.” Virgil said, voice raw. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

“You won’t,” he said. He reached up and put his hands on Virgil’s clothed chest, his fingers seeking flesh. Virgil was solid, thick skin stretched taut across bulging muscle. The mutant screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, standing statue still as Deacon’s hands explored his body. His skin was scarred and puckered like a ghoul’s, felt like shoe leather wrapped around concrete. An immoveable object. “I’ve done this before,” Deacon murmured.

Virgil’s eyes snapped open. “You’ve slept with supermutants?”

“Well, no,” Deacon admitted. “But with men. And women with dicks. Ghouls. Robots of varying makes and models. I’ve uh, I’ve had a lot of different things in my ass.” He hesitated, considering. “Probably a few things I shouldn’t have put in my ass, if I stop to think about it.”

“Stop talking,” Virgil said. “Just--just show me how to touch you.”

“Alright,” said Deacon. “We’re doing this, then. We’re really going to do this.” He took a deep breath, let his hands fall away. “I’m going to kneel on the bed, hands on the headboard to brace myself. Kneel behind me, and I’ll tell you when to start and how to touch me, okay?”

“Okay,” said Virgil, breathless. His hands shook slightly, nervous but eager, each of his fingers as big around as four of Deacon’s own.

He swallowed nervously. “Wait, do you have vegetable oil or a thing of lanolin or something? You can’t go in dry, you’d break me in half.”

“Will petroleum jelly work?”

“Perfect,” said Deacon. “Go get it, and slick up your entire hand. Use more than you think you’ll need. In fact,” he said, “just bring the jar over. It dries up quick, we’ll want more.”

“Alright,” said Virgil. He crossed back to his desk, moving quickly, eagerly while Deacon undressed. Naked except for his glasses, he arranged himself on the bed, kneeling with his legs spread, his hands on the headboard. Virgil settled behind him, bedsprings shrieking as the mattress deformed around his weight, practically tipping Deacon into his lap. “Now what?”

“Touch me,” Deacon said. “Spread my ass and give me one finger, up to the first knuckle.”

Breathing raggedly, Virgil put a calloused, fever-warm hand on Deacon’s lower back. He spread Deacon’s ass cheeks with the other, then tentatively pressed a slick finger against his entrance. Unprepared despite his eagerness, Deacon yelped and jumped a mile, and Virgil pulled away immediately.

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Deacon. “I’m sensitive.” He had a death grip on the headboard, knuckles white from clenching. Blinked, Deacon counted breaths, focusing on his hands to steady himself. He still had the same old hands, same callouses, same scars, same cuticles. He’d been under the knife a dozen times and woken up with a dozen new faces, but Carrington never touches his hands. _You ought to have_ something _that’s still yours, Deacon_.

Behind him, Virgil whimpered. "This was _your_ idea," he says, practically keening with arousal and frustration. "Do you want me to do this or not?"

Deacon wet his lips with his tongue and took a deep breath. "Want," he said, hoarsely. "Definitely want."

“Will you pull away if I touch you again?”

“No,” said Deacon. “Just do it. I’m ready.” He screwed his eyes shut, breathing through his nose while Virgil resumed his exploration, clumsily probing his asshole with a single, slick digit. Deacon gasped when the mutant pushed into him, cock twitching with the shock of penetration. Virgil’s fat finger meets little resistance, slid in easily to the first joint.

"How's that?"

More than anything else, it felt strange. Deacon hadn’t lied about his experience: he’d been with men, women, ghouls, robots, even fingerfucked himself to the verge of unconsciousness, but the feel of Virgil’s thick digit was incomparable. The texture of his skin was different, the girth was different. One mutant finger was almost as much as a human cock, and Deacon knew he couldn’t take much more without hurting himself.

"Good," he said, voice hoarse."Give me a little more."

He tried to push his hips back against Virgil’s hand, but the mutant held him in place, effortlessly immobilizing him with one massive hand. "I don't know if you can take it," Virgil said. "You're really tight. I don't want to break you."

His words _did_ something to Deacon.. Head swimming, cock hard, ass only half-full, he growled in frustration. "Come _on_ ," he said. "I can handle it."

Hesitantly, Virgil wriggled his finger, sliding in another half inch. Deacon whined, low in his throat, and rutted back against Virgil’s hand, squeaking with surprise when the mutant’s finger brushed his prostate. “Christ,” he said, his voice raising an octave. “Right there.”

“Like this?” Virgil asks. He repeated the motion, slick fingertip sliding over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Deacon cried out, back arching, nerves singing, muscles tensing, ass clenching around Virgil’s finger, pulling him in deeper. “Tell me how it feels.”

It was like grabbing a live wire, like plunging his hand into an icy stream, like getting punched in the gut. Deacon had no words for it, but the sensation left him trembling and wrecked and wanting, throat raw from crying out.

"It's really good," he said, leaning forward to allow Virgil easier access. "Really, really good."

"Use your words.” There was a teasing edge in Virgil’s voice, a new note of confidence. "Tell me, or I'll stop."

Deacon groaned, flushing and fuck-stupid, trembling on the verge of orgasm. "It tingles," he said. "I can feel it in my whole body, like I got lightning in my veins." Virgil slipped a second finger into Deacon, and he screamed as the mutant curling and uncurling his fingers in time to his jagged breaths, spreading his ass, stretching him wide. He rocked back against Virgil’s touch, his voice echoing off the cave walls, cock throbbing. His balls lifted and shuddered inside his scrotum, twitching as precome oozed from his slit and ran down his dick to catch in his pubes, leaving his slick and soaked and _aching_ for touch.

“Please,” he said, hoarsely. “Please.”

In answer, Virgil increased the pressure, but not speed, of his ministrations, and Deacon’s eyes rolled back in his head, wordless noise pouring from his parted lips.

For a few moment, he was gone. All the tension drained from his body and he went limp underneath Virgil’s massive hands, cock twitching against his belly, painting his skin with ejaculate.

When he returned to his body, Virgil was leaning over him, brow furrowed “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of concern.

"Holy shit," Deacon croaked. “You might have killed me. I’ve never come that good.”

Virgil extended a hand and helped Deacon into a sitting position. His eyes fell on Virgil’s cock, fully erect, straining against his trousers and weeping precome. The sight of it was dizzying, and Deacon had to shut his eyes for a moment to guard against sensory overload.

"Come here," he said, licking his cracked lips. "I want to suck you off."

Virgil hesitated, awkward and unsure once again. "You don't have to," he said, even though his body was humming with tension and his eyes were roving over Deacon's naked form. He loomed over Deacon, looking down at him like an oasis in a desert, clearly _wanting_ , but hesitant nonetheless.

"You made me come so hard that my soul left my body," Deacon said. "It’d be downright churlish not to return the favor." He crawled forward, sliding his hands along Virgil’s thighs, squeezing the muscle through his clothing. Virgil’s eyes went wide behind his glasses.

"Come on," Deacon teased. "Let's play doctor. You be the doctor and you're about to have your medical license revoked, because this is not how you perform a strep test. I'll be the naughty patient. Or nurse, whatever." He stuck his tongue out. "Aaaaaaah."

"Oh my god," said Virgil, fumbling with his belt buckle. "Shut the fuck up."

Hands shaking, he undid his buttons, and his cock sprang free. He was even larger than Deacon imagined, and for a moment, he hesitated, wondering how he’d get his mouth all the way around it. _When there’s a will,_ he thought gamely, _there’s way._

He began by running his mouth along the length of Virgil’s cock. There was a vein along the underside, standing out sharply against his green skin, pulsing, and Deacon licked along it, sunglasses sliding down his nose. Eyes glazed with pleasure, he looked up Virgil, whose hands were fisted in the sheets. The mutant held himself rigid, holding back, trying not to thrust up into Deacon’s mouth.

Deacon rewarded him with a sloppy kiss, his tongue darting out to catch a bead of precome welling up from Virgil's slit. His spunk was thicker than a human’s, the salt taste undercut with an alkaline tang like seltzer water. Deacon wondered vaguely whether supermutant come was radioactive, then wrapped his lips around Virgil’s corona and sucks, cheeks hollowing out around the mutant’s cock.

Above him, Virgil gasped, hips twitching forward. The head of his enormous cock hit the back of Deacon’s throat and he gagged, sputtering and choking.Virgil pulled back, dropping apologies like stones while Deacon caught his breath, lungs burning.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Everyone gets carried away, sometimes.” He lunged forward and recaptured Virgil’s cock, fluttering his tongue over Virgil’s hypersensitive glans, drawing a piteous groan from the supermutant.

He alternated sucks and licks, using his hands to work Virgil’s shaft and cup his enormous balls. Virgil threw off so much body heat that Deacon felt like he was fellating a furnace. Sweat rolled down his forehead and stung his eyes, but Virgil whined low in his throat, pawing at Deacon’s neck and back, one meaty hand curling around Deacon’s bony shoulder as he spills in his mouth.

Deacon swallowed all he could, but Virgil’s spunk fills his mouth and dribbles out of his parted lips. It ran down his chin and dripping onto his chest to mingle with the smeary remnants of Deacon’s own orgasm. He sat up, hoping he made a pretty picture with supermutant come running down his front, and leaned in for a kiss. It was sloppy: teeth and tongues and semen, bitter and salty and strange.

Virgil’s hands hands settled on Deacon’s hips, fingertips practically touching. Deacon shivered, feeling impossibly small and delicate in Virgil’s hold. In the Wasteland, he stood head-and-shoulders above most humans, but Virgil dwarfed him. ‘Small’ was not a feeling Deacon had often, and he relished it, wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck to deepen the kiss.

“Thank you,” said Virgil when they broke apart. “That was unexpected.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Deacon. “Really, the pleasure was all mine.”

“No,” said Virgil softly. “I mean it. I haven’t-- _hadn’t_ \--been intimate in years, even before I left the Institute. I was too busy before, and then I just assumed there wasn’t anybody out there willing to--to take a chance on someone like me. This was nice.” He smiled. “Fun.”

“Good,” said Deacon. “God only knows you deserve to have some fun. I’m glad to have been of service.” He stifled a yawn. “Mind if I spend the night?”

“No, not at all,” Virgil said. He hesitated, awkward once again. “I’ve only got the one bed, if that’s alright?”

“Virgil, I’m not the kind of guy who shies away from a little cuddling.” Deacon scooted over and patted the mattress next to him. “Come here. We may even be able to avoid sleeping on the wet patch, if you don’t mind spooning me.”

Relief evident on his broad face, Virgil laid down beside Deacon. “Thank you,” he said again, and Deacon silenced him with a kiss.

“Sleep now,” he said, yawning openly. “Night night, sleep tight, don’t let the Brotherhood bite.”

Virgil chuckled and pressed a final good-night kiss to Deacon’s shoulder. They fell asleep with a hand’s breadth between them, but woke in a heap the next morning, heads pillowed on one another’s shoulders, their limbs intertwined.


End file.
